


She points you home

by ReleaseTheSheep



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ann is 18 and Anne is 24, Ann's a little confused but she's got the spirit, Anne in breeches, F/F, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Unnecessary Acrobatic Stunts, Hurt/Comfort, I did a lot of research for this but it's probably still not accurate, Sea Shanties, Ship Captain Anne, Smut, Sort Of, cause I wanted them both to be baby, defined but still, going fast?, half the age gap of canon, it's baby enough for what this is, kissing in high up places, lot of sailing terms, on a boat, sharing hopes and dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReleaseTheSheep/pseuds/ReleaseTheSheep
Summary: Ann(e)s on a boat.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 72





	1. Inverness via Aberdeen

**Author's Note:**

> This has been about 10 months in the making, lol. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Glossary of sailing terms, in order of appearance: (putting it here cause it might be easier to read it first and absorb the definitions so you don't have to keep checking, but do whatever floats your boat! pun intended ;D)
> 
> whaleship: a ship used for hunting and processing whales. At the time this fic is set (the early-mid 19th century), whales were hunted for the oil in their blubber, to use as fuel for lamps.  
> gunwale: the railing around the outside of the deck  
> forecastle: the foremost deck on a ship  
> line: a rope attached to a sail or spar on a ship; a rope serving a purpose  
> spar: a pole, vertical or horizontal, serving a purpose on a ship, including a boom or mast  
> ratlines: a network of lines and rope ladders running through a ship's rigging for access  
> galley: the kitchen on a ship  
> topgallant: a small, square-rigged sail near the masthead  
> quarterdeck: on this ship, which is a smallish brigantine, the deck between the two masts  
> boatswain: sailor responsible for provisions and cargo  
> to ship it green: when a wave washes over the deck of a ship  
> bilges: internal portion of the hull which has to be pumped once in a while to empty it of water, often during a storm  
> pump room: the room containing the bilge pumps  
> pilot: a member of the crew hired specifically for their knowledge of local waters and weather patterns; a navigator  
> helm: the mechanism used to steer a ship, here it's a wheel  
> picaroon: a scoundrel  
> to keelhaul: a nasty punishment where a person's hands and feet were bound and a rope was passed under the hull of the ship. The person was then dragged across the belly of the ship from one side to the other.  
> tar: a common sailor  
> mess: the room on a ship where the crew and passengers ate  
> grog: unidentified alcohol  
> ship's biscuit: a rock, really. allegedly made with flour but cannot be proven  
> capstan: a mechanical device operated by several people used to haul lines or chains on a ship  
> to moor: to attach a ship to a dock with rope  
> gangplank: a ramp for boarding or disembarking from a ship
> 
> (these are my defs, please lmk if they're unclear, or use google)

"Pardon me Miss, would you mind terribly moving down the deck a few steps? It's just that I need the rope that's by your feet there."  
Ann Walker startled slightly at the sound of the - low, but unmistakably _female_ \- voice from behind her. There were a handful of other passengers like her hitching a ride north on the whaleship _Ariadne_ as she made her way to Greenland, and some of those passengers were women, but what would a passenger want with a rope coiled on the deck?

Curious, Ann turned to face the speaker. It was a sailor, there could be no doubt about that from the boots and breeches and loose shirt, and the tanned skin. But it was also definitely a woman. Her long chestnut hair was swept behind her and tied neatly at the nape of her neck to keep it out of the wind, and her warm brown eyes seemed to spark with the light of the sun reflecting off the waves into them. She was smiling at Ann not unkindly, almost expectantly-

Oh, right. The rope. That expectancy came from the fact that she had asked Ann to get out of the way, and Ann was still standing there, gawking uselessly at her handsome features while the woman waited to be able to pick up the rope she needed.

Ann came back to herself, mumbling an apology, and took a couple of hasty steps away. So hasty, in fact, that her foot got caught in the rope in question and she tripped, sending her crashing straight into the gunwale. Ann cried out as she struggled to get her feet back under her, eyes going wide as she realized she was about to tumble overboard and no amount of flailing was going to stop her, when strong hands caught her at the shoulder and around the waist. "Do be careful, Miss," came the woman's voice again, though much closer to her ear now, "it takes some time to get your sea legs." She easily turned Ann around to face her, but kept her hands where they were, as if to make sure Ann was truly steady enough on her feet to stand without her help.

It took Ann a moment to choke out, "Th-thank you. I'll try and keep that in mind, erm-" She suddenly realized that she didn't know the woman's name.

"It's Anne," came the helpful response, accompanied by a broad grin, "Anne Lister. But most of the boys call me Jack. And you are?"

"Ann. I mean, you're Anne but I'm Ann too, I'm also Ann. We're both- I'm-" She sighed, still getting over the shock of her near-fall and having altogether too much difficulty expressing herself to the sailor. She decided to start again. "I'm grateful. For that. Thank you for catching me. And my name is Ann Walker. Also Ann."

Anne chuckled. "It's a good name. And you're most welcome." With that, she stooped down and flung the heavy coil of rope up off the deck and onto her shoulder. "I'm sure I'll see you around, Miss Walker," she said, before striding off toward the forecastle.

 _I hope so_ , thought Ann, biting her lip and clinging to the gunwale to stop herself losing her footing again.

~~

Anne cut the thick sailthread with her teeth, knotting it off with the fingers of one hand while reaching into the pocket of her breeches for another patch. She clambered higher up into the tangle of lines near the masthead, locating the next hole to patch up. As she made her way up to it, however, she heard the voice of Booth calling up to her from a few spars down.

"Jack, could you catch that line for me, the one hanging down just a bit in front of you?"  
Anne looked in the direction Booth was pointing. "What, that knotted one? Booth, that's a mile off."

She heard a snigger come from the other end of the spar Booth was pointing from. "I told you she wouldn't get it. Told you she'd rather go on _sewing_. She is a _lass_ after all."

Hinscliffe was never one of the crew that Anne was fonder of, and this reminded her of why. She caught his eye, then reached out to grab a nearby line to swing from. Then, staring daggers, and without more than a single rough pull to make sure the rope was sturdy enough to take her weight, she flew down from the spar she'd been standing on. Tearing through the air, she knicked the line Booth was after with the tips of callused fingers, then swung round to land again lightly on the boys' spar below. Holding out her prize in Booth's direction, she maintained hard eye contact with Hinscliffe until he retreated off the end of the spar and back down the ratlines toward the deck.

"Cheers, Jack," muttered a rather stunned Booth, taking the bit of line from Anne.

"Anytime, Booth. And if you don't mind, next time you see that scurvy galley gnat," she stuck a thumb out in the direction Hinscliffe had left from, "you can tell him from me there are a great many things a _lass_ can do. Including his old mum." And with that she was back up three spars above him again, measuring out the sailthread she needed to patch up one last hole in the topgallant.

She loved working near the mastheads. So high above the sea and the deck, she felt as though she were on top of the world. Besides, it gave her a great view of all the goings-on below. She could see the last mate, Washington, holding the wheel steady as he stayed their course straight up the coast. There was Tom the deckboy, son of second mate Sowden, swabbing the quarterdeck like his life depended on it. And there, out near the forecastle head, was someone else. It took Anne only a second to place the honey-coloured curls, even from such a distance: it was Miss Walker, the girl she'd stopped going overboard the day before. She was sitting on a stool, and seemed to have set up- was it? Yes, it was, an easel. Anne hastily finished patching the topgallant, then stepped to the end of the spar and sat down, holding onto a nearby line and leaning forward for a closer look at the artist below. The deck was a long way down and Anne could make out approximately nothing of the painting itself, but she found herself enjoying simply watching Miss Walker. Even from this distance, Anne could see the graceful movements with which Miss Walker mixed her colours and passed her brush over the canvas. She sat there for several minutes, seated on the very end of the spar with her fingers clutched around rope, more or less hanging over a precipice, just watching Miss Walker move. Then there came a sudden bark of laughter from below, and she turned to see that two of the other men had dumped out Tom's bucket on his head. _Idiots_.

With a sigh, Anne pulled herself upright and then began the descent back to deck, where she was more likely to be needed than up here now that she had finished patching. At least this was what she told herself; there was no practical reason for her feet to carry her toward the forecastle, and yet that is precisely where she ended up.

She could see now that Miss Walker was painting the sea. Dark broad strokes of blue and green covered the better part of the canvas, broken up by flashes of white foam. Miss Walker had chosen a softer blue for the sky, and was lighting up the undersides of fluffy clouds with touches of sunshine yellow. She cocked her head to one side, holding her paintbrush delicately just above the canvas' surface as she contemplated her work, and Anne was struck by how sweet an aspect the pose gave her. Suddenly Miss Walker's head snapped round and she fixed Anne with a startled look.

"Oh, so sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, I was just looking for the... err... boatswain, he's a pretty muscular man about yea high, dark hair, wears a red kerchief. Any sign of him around here?" Anne improvised, willing herself not to blush.

"Erm, well, I don't- I don't know, I haven't been... paying much attention," replied Miss Walker, gesturing meekly to her canvas, and herself blushing rather profusely.

"Ah, well that's all right then. I'm sure he'll turn up. That's very good," Anne went on, acknowledging the painting as though she'd only just noticed it.

Miss Walker reddened further, putting Anne in mind once more of the boatswain's kerchief. "Thank you." Then, collecting herself again, she added, "I hope you find him."

"So do I," said Anne, turning and taking her leave with a roguish smirk.

As soon as she was out of Miss Walker's sight, she leaned against the wall of a cabin and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as she walked. What had that been? _Just get back to work, Lister_ she told herself, setting out in search of some task or other to occupy herself with as far away from the forecastle as possible.

~~

Ann was putting the finishing touches on her painting when the first crack of thunder sounded.

It shook her out of the vague trance she always seemed to slip into when painting and she began cleaning her brushes as best she could with what she had brought up onto the deck, rushing to wipe them down and put them away with her paints before the storm got properly underway. As she did, she noticed the sound of boots thumping across the wooden deck from several directions around her. She also noticed that the ship seemed to have begun to rock more strongly at some point since she had sat down. And that the sky had darkened considerably. And, of course, that it was now raining. She gathered up her things hurriedly, tucking the largely dry painting under one arm, and began to make her way toward the cabins when a man came running blindly around a corner, slamming into her side. "Sorry Miss!" he called without stopping, as Ann went tumbling into a wall. At least she thought it was a wall; but then it began to shout.

" _Sowden!_ Are you going to ring the blasted bell or do you fancy waiting till she ships it green?"

Ann turned around and there was Anne- Miss Lister? Jack? -the sailor from earlier. She was gesticulating toward a man on the next deck up and seemed not to have noticed Ann. Then a strong wave hit the ship from the port side and Anne reached back toward Ann to steady herself. Unthinkingly, Ann caught her hand. The sailor turned to face her then, surprise in her brown eyes. "Miss Walker? What are you still doing up here? I may have to wait until that absolute- _animal_ rings the bell before I can go below but you ought to be down with the other passengers by now, waiting out the storm. Go on, the cabins are that way. Stay down the middle of the deck, I won't be there to catch you this time if you trip!" 

"And yet I'm the one who caught you just now, aren't I?" Ann's hand - the one that wasn't currently holding the sailor's - flew to her mouth as soon as the words had left it, so startled was she at her own boldness. She felt heat rising to her cheeks.

Anne, too, had been affected by the question. "Yes, I suppose you are. Thank you, Miss Walker," she managed to get out.

"You mustn't call me that," Ann said emphatically, a splash of her moment's bravery returning, "or I shall have to call you Miss Lister." 

The look of abject disgust on her face was priceless. _Worth a spot of bravery,_ Ann thought, a cheeky smile spreading on her face. 

"That won't do," the sailor agreed. Then, almost bashfully she added, "Ann, then?"

"I think so, Anne." Ann smiled. "Unless you prefer Jack?" 

Anne looked hard into Ann's eyes before replying, with a slight inclination of her head, "I think 'Anne' will do just fine." 

Ann nodded. She dropped Anne's hand then, beginning to blush as she realized she had already held it for far longer than necessary, and pushed past Anne in an effort to get down to her cabin as fast as her legs would take her.

~~

"Oi, Jack! Do you want us to sink?"

Anne came back to herself with a start, hands tightening again around the bilge pump handle where they'd gone slack. "I'd rather we didn't, sir," she muttered.

"So put your back into it!"

"Yessir." She huffed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and pressed down hard on the handle. The sound of the chain clinking behind her helped clear the last of her mental fog as she settled back into a steady rhythm. Where had that fog come from? She recalled a bright clear blue colour, and a feeling of falling- ah. Blue eyes. Ann. She pressed the handle down roughly again, as if the movement could physically push away any further thoughts of the one passenger she seemed to keep running into.

A head popped around the corner of the pump room. A particularly detestable head, Anne realized sourly: the grinning head of one Captain Christopher Rawson. 

"Clear the bilges and then go drop anchor, lads. This is turning into a blighter of a storm and I reckon we'd better wait her out." 

Anne groaned internally (she would have done it aloud if she hadn't already just been reprimanded). Waiting out a storm was just the opposite of what she needed. It meant more time alone with her thoughts - all of which currently seemed to be on the distracting painter. 

"We could also push on. It's not like this blasted ship hasn't seen worse and with respect, Captain, we are on a bit of schedule. Waiting will lose us time."

"Oh, I'm so sorry Lister, are you a pilot now? Do you know these waters? Know every current and shoal and reef? Well enough to navigate them in the storm from Hell? I'm terribly ashamed to say I hadn't heard the news. Perhaps you would like to take the helm then, eh? Along with full responsibility for the ship, her crew, and all other souls aboard? Think you're up to that job, Jack Lister?"

Anne grumbled and cast down her eyes. "No, sir."

Rawson's red face split into an unpleasant grin, and his eyes, permanently wild with drink, grew wilder now with malice. "Oh well that _is_ a shame. I suppose that just leaves you-" he cast a disdainful glance around the pump room- "here." Anne pictured him as a child, sniggering cruelly at an unfortunate playmate in the same tone. Then she pictured herself putting her fist through his head. "I'll be up on deck then," he called as he stepped out of the doorway, then looked back at Anne one last time, "with the other people who are actually worth something around here."

Once the captain was out of sight, Hinscliffe, Anne's pump-mate, spat on the ground and snarled lowly. "Who does he think he is? Not like he's a pilot either. He'd be as lost as you trying to get us through this storm, if he had the balls to try. He just owns this ship, so we listen to him. But he ain't better than us. Cor, I'd love to wipe that look off his ugly mug."  
Anne reconsidered her earlier vendetta against Hinscliffe for insulting her, and grunted her agreement with him. 

Next to them, at the second pump, Booth spoke up. "Only reason I shacked up with him and you lot is he paid alright and his was nigh the only ship at harbour when I showed up. If I'd known he'd be this much of a picaroon I'd have stayed off til a worthier captain came about."

"Aye to that," came the voice of Booth's pump-mate Beech, as he wiped his brow. "Pays fine but he's bloody intolerable. Sometimes I think about lettin' her get scratched up as we pull in to port, just to make him mad." He slapped the wooden wall of the pump room to underscore his point, then pulled back as if he'd been burnt. "I don't do it though, I'm not an idiot. He'd have me keelhauled."

"Oi! Cut the chatter, bilge rats. Go on, pump!" bellowed Sowden.

Anne and the other tars put their heads down and pumped, cursing the captain under their breaths.

~~

Ann awoke the next morning in a ball at the bottom of her hammock. The night's storm had been like nothing she had ever experienced: it was a snarling, violent thing that had stirred the sea into a heaving, restless monster, throwing the _Ariadne_ about with what felt like manic glee, utterly without a care for her passengers and crew. The winds had whipped and screamed, making a sound like the gnashing of teeth. Ann had spent what felt like days, curled up and cowering, trying to make herself small enough that the fury outside her cabin would forget about her and leave her in peace.

Ann had seen what she had thought of as some impressive storms on land. Her mind unhelpfully brought up images of the oak tree by the pond at the bottom of the garden, torn from its mighty roots, lying shattered and heavy on the grass with a few limbs sticking into the soaked earth and the water. She had been young, and that oak had seemed like the strongest, mightiest thing in the world to her childish mind. Surely a storm that could lay that great, woody behemoth low would be the worst storm she'd ever see. 

Not so. Being at sea seemed to make everything about a storm angrier, rawer. Where on land thunder rumbled menacingly, at sea it roared. Rain on land could fall in harsh, cold sheets, and batter at windows; rain at sea lashed at you and at the whole world, made you feel like it ought to have left you bleeding and carved gashes in the wood of the ship. Land raindrops could feel like pebbles pelting you; sea raindrops felt like knives. 

And the wind. Ann had known wind to howl, but never to bellow and _scream_. As she had made her way across the slippery deck in the mad dash to her cabin - after she'd parted ways with Anne - the storm had begun picking up around her at an alarming rate and she had felt as though the wind was about to pick her up and fling her into the waiting maw of the enraged sea. 

But now, as she unfurled her limbs and stood and stretched, there was no evidence in the movement of the ship or the muffled sound of the waves that the sea had ever been anything other than peaceful and calm. Sunlight streamed in through the porthole, as though the sky itself were smiling; if storms were rougher at sea, it seemed the calm after them was sweeter, too. 

Ann padded over to her trunk in the corner of the cabin and cracked it open. She pulled out her sketchbook, and a piece of charcoal. She left her clothes for the day behind, for now. She didn't feel like going to breakfast, nor did she want to go above just yet. She dropped the lid of the trunk back in place and settled on top of it. Flipping open her sketchbook, she began to warm up her drawing hand, first with lines, then basic shapes, then onto some simple flowers. Her hand began to wander, and before she knew it she was tracing from memory the sharp contour of a jaw, the glint of bright, intelligent eyes, a few unruly strands of dark hair whipping around a slightly lined but open face. 

It wasn't long before Anne's likeness was looking up at her from the pages of her sketchbook, partly teasing, partly pleased, partly defiant. Ann blushed, in spite of herself. 

Just then, the sound of a man coming down the hall ringing the lunch bell was heard, causing Ann to startle and almost mar her drawing with a wayward line. A bit more time had passed than she thought. 

"I'm not done with you," she said to the face in the sketch as she shut her trunk on top of it again and smoothed her dress down, preparing to go to lunch.

~~

Anne was not a fan of lunch, as a rule. She filed into the mess last and took the only seat available by that point. It just so happened that seat was opposite - _of course_ \- Ann Walker. The girl bowed her head shyly as Anne tugged out the chair and dropped into it unceremoniously.

The meal passed quietly and without fuss, but it was a near thing. Several times over the course of it, Anne looked up from her stew to find Ann's eyes on her, and nearly choked or broke her neck trying to break the heady eye contact as fast as possible. How did this girl have such a strong effect on her? How was it that the sight of Ann blowing on a spoonful of too-hot stew made her want to launch herself across the table and take those soft, pursed, pink lips with her own? She shook her head, chasing away the thought and polished off the last of her bowl. She rose to head to her quarters for an hour or two of shut-eye in preparation for the late watch that night. She saw Ann stand as well, and begin to walk to the door before turning sharply and disappearing into the sick bay. 

A frown creased Anne's brow. The girl had seemed perfectly well throughout lunch. Perhaps she was feeling seasick? It was only their third day at sea, and those who weren't used to it took some time to find their sea legs, she supposed. She'd told Ann as much on the first day. As she made her way down the quarterdeck toward her beloved hammock, she recalled that there was no surgeon or doctor aboard at that moment; Rawson had elected to set sail without one and pick one up in Aberdeen, the bloody imbecile. 

Perhaps she ought to go back and check on Ann, just in case. 

Anne hurried back toward the sick bay, her pace increasing along with her worries. What if Ann was truly very poorly? What if she needed real medical attention right away? What would Anne do then, with an ailing passenger and a crew of dunderheads, and a captain with the dunderiest head of them all? 

By the time she reached the sick bay, she was about ready to wrench the door off its hinges. She did not get the chance to, however, because just as her hand was closing around the handle, it turned; the door opened and out tripped Ann, straight into Anne's arms. 

After setting the young woman on her feet again, Anne leaned back half a step, looking her over. She did not appear out of sorts. Her eyes were bright, her complexion was even - in fact, she seemed the picture of health. 

"What are you doing here?" asked Anne, still trepid. 

Ann looked caught off-guard. "Er, I'm- I'm travelling to see family in Inverness." 

Anne blinked. Then, she found herself unable to hold back a laugh. Ann was looking increasingly distraught. "I only meant to ask what you were doing in the sick bay. But do tell me more." 

"Oh, is that what this is? I got... lost," Ann admitted, sheepishly. She was blushing again. "But yes, I'm going through Aberdeen and on to Inverness over land. My family thought it would do me good to go, and I agreed on the condition I could go by sea." 

"An interesting condition to impose," cut in Anne, amused. 

Ann looked down at her boots and bit her lip before continuing, "I think I just wanted to impose a condition. And to see the sea of course, it's lovely. But at the time I just... wanted to have some power in the whole matter, I suppose. My family can be very overbearing, you see, and I only wanted to feel as though I was negotiating in some way, to have some sort of say."

Anne was intrigued by this funny little creature, egged on by her shy smile. "So... going by sea has nothing to do with wanting to paint the lovely views that passage on a whaleship affords?" she mused, thinking back to the way Ann's hand had moved across the canvas as she painted, almost caressing it. The thought made Anne feel decidedly warm. 

It must have shown somehow because Ann turned pink and ducked her head again. 

Anne decided at that moment that she had made fools enough of them both, and was turning to finally return to her hammock, when Ann called sweetly after her, "What about you? What are you doing here?" 

Anne turned back around slowly. She really hadn't meant to ask Ann such personal questions as she just had. But since the girl had told her so earnestly, she supposed it was only fair that she respond in kind. "I'm from Yorkshire originally, small town. I left for Hull when I was quite young to find work, heard there was money to be had in oil and that ships needed hands. I shacked up with this tub and her sodden crew, and now here I stand." She beamed. "I shouldn't say that about the crew, out isn't their fault after all. It's all at the captain's feet." 

"What is?" asked Ann, with such genuine concern that Anne couldn't bear to brush her off. 

"Oh, it's nothing really," she demurred. "We're going to be a day late to port, which will mean a day less of whaling, is all. Not to mention all you passengers will be late to your destinations. We were supposed to dock at noon, but with the time we're making we'll be lucky if we can drop anchor in the harbour by nightfall. We'll have to make our final approach in the light of morning." Anne shook her head. Ann's blue eyes seemed to be inviting her to continue, so she did. "If only we'd pushed on through the storm. Or at the very least done something to catch the time back up. He could have had us change the lines while we were waiting it out so they could be hauled tighter once we got underway again, pick up more speed that way. We could have sunk some supplies to lose the weight. We're stopping off in Aberdeen anyway, it isn't like it would be any trouble to top up again."

"That's what you would've done, is it?" Ann sounded a bit uncertain. 

But Anne hardly noticed. She was too caught up in the fact that someone would ever ask her such a question. After a moment she replied, "Yes, actually." Ann made a face. "What is it?" 

"I don't know. That all sounds a bit..." 

"Hm?" 

"Well, reckless." 

"Reckless?" Anne considered. "But we aren't alive, are we, Ann, if we're not taking the odd risk?" 

Ann bit her lip, considering in turn. "No, I suppose not."

~~

Ann couldn't sleep.

The hammock was comfortable, she supposed, but having only recently gotten used to the feeling of the deck swaying beneath her, it suddenly felt wrong to find herself swaying above it instead. She'd been too tired on the first night from the journey from Crow Nest to the harbour in Hull to contemplate much of anything before dropping off to sleep, and the terror of the storm had kept her up most of the second night until she'd fallen to exhaustion a few hours before dawn. But today the sea had been calm, she'd done that sketch and started on a painting of the coast, and talked with Anne... and now she wasn't tired and her mind was whirring. 

The truth was, Anne had been on her mind all day; the sketch was only the barest proof of it. She had nearly gone mad over lunch, seated right across from the sailor. More than once Anne had caught her staring at the line of her jaw, her collarbones where they peeked out from the top of her loose, open shirt, the way her throat worked around a sip of grog. By the end of the meal she had felt nearly on fire, so that when she saw Anne moving toward the mess door at the same time as her, she had turned and ducked into the nearest alternative exit. But then Anne had come back, and they had talked, and Anne had said something about "the lovely views" at sea. Ann had thought of the morning's sketch and blushed, then. Did Anne know? Did she have any idea of the effect she had on Ann? Impossible, surely. Why would Anne give any thought to her? She was a girl. Anne didn't seem the type to seek out the company of girls; why else would she choose to work on a ship, with so many men? No, decidedly Anne had little use for female friendship. Ann sighed. Perhaps it was time to take some of that sea air she'd heard so much about. 

It took some doing, but Ann eventually managed to untangle herself enough from the canvas to go tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. She drew a shawl around her shoulders and snuck out of her cabin, shutting the door slowly behind her so that it wouldn't slam later with the rocking of the waves. She placed her bare feet carefully on the steps up to the deck so the wood wouldn't creak; she did not want to wake anyone. This was partly out of courtesy, but also partly because she liked the idea of being alone on deck, with just two or three of the crew milling about on watch somewhere. 

She emerged from belowdecks into stark moonlight, her breath catching at the sparkle of the light on the waves, the bright, eerie sheen cast over the entire ship. She felt like a ghost in her white chemise and drawers, haunting the decks of some phantom ship of legend. She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath, throwing her head back and feeling the wind on her face. When she opened her eyes again, her head still flung back, she noticed a shadow high above her, far up in the ratlines. Someone was up there. Ann took a few silent steps down the deck to get a better look from another angle. And then a cloud moved from in front of the moon, and the figure was lit up in a brilliant shower of white moonlight. 

It was Anne. Ann was sure of it. The cut of her breeches, the flow of her ponytail, the outline of her face in profile; even from this distance, Ann recognized her. And suddenly, she didn't want to be alone anymore.

~~

Anne looked out over the moonlit horizon, letting her mind wander.

No matter what she tried - grog, stargazing, _poetry_ \- her thoughts only ever returned to Ann. So she had decided the best thing to do was indulge, just for a few moments. Anne had no illusions about the girl; she would stop off at Aberdeen, the _Ariadne_ would continue on across the mouth of the Ness to Wick, and thence to Greenland's whale-favoured coasts, and they would never see each other again. She mustn't become attached, it would only hurt in the end. But that didn't mean there was anything wrong with picturing Ann's sweet face for a few minutes - the roses of her cheeks; her dainty lips, and the way she bit them so adorably; her little button nose; and her wide, inquisitive eyes, clear as blue crystal and delightfully expressive. Anne licked her lips subconsciously. Surely it was no crime to allow herself to think of how soft Ann's hand had felt in hers, to wonder whether she was that soft everywhere-

"Mind if I join you?" 

Anne froze, digging her fingers into the spar to steady herself. Was she hearing voices? She turned and found that she was not, but then she had to steady herself again as her heart nearly stopped. 

For there, dressed in naught but nightclothes and a shawl, panting lightly from the effort of the climb, dripping with moonlight, was Ann. 

Anne had to open and shut her mouth a few times before any words deigned to come out. "Erm, of- of course, you're- more than welcome." 

"Thank you," breathed Ann, settling in place on the spar next to Anne. "It's a lovely night, isn't it?" 

_Even lovelier with you here,_ Anne didn't say. Instead she nodded stiffly, a shiver travelling leisurely down her spine. 

Ann noticed and misinterpreted it as a chill, reaching to wrap her shawl around both if their shoulders. Anne almost wanted to object and explain that she wasn't cold, but she simply murmured a "thank you." 

"Oh look, a shooting star!" 

"Where?" asked Anne, looking up. 

Ann let go of her corner of the shawl, pointing excitedly-

-the wind caught the fabric and tore the shawl from their shoulders, sending it twirling down through the air toward the deck. 

Anne wasted no time. With a wink to Ann, she hooked her knees around the spar and dropped backward, catching a nearby line in her hands as she hung upside down. She used the momentum to kick her legs backward over the spar, flipping in mid-air and causing the line to swing forward. On the backswing, she flung herself down and out toward another line, just in time to snatch the wayward shawl with her teeth. She hung from the line for a moment, grinning around the piece of cloth in her mouth, one fist raised in victory. Ann looked down from their spar high above and clapped in delight. Anne landed with her feet together a couple of spars down and bowed broadly. She tucked the shawl snugly into the back of her breeches and began to walk down the spar, away from the mast. She held her arms out to her sides for balance, making a show of wobbling and tentatively picking her footing. A gasp came from above and she smiled, but did not look up. _Let her worry a moment,_ she thought wickedly, _it's what she gets for thinking I don't know exactly what I'm doing._ She reached the end of the spar then, and turned briskly back to face the mast. She sketched a salute in Ann's direction, then leapt forward. She launched into a handspring, landed, then took two great, bounding steps toward the mast, kicking off it with a powerful leg and catching their spar in one hand. She swung her legs up and crossed them at the ankles over the top of the spar. Then she heaved herself up, throwing her legs again in a high arc and coming to land on her feet next to poor Ann, whose mouth hung agape. 

"Your shawl, my lady," Anne purred, whipping the garment from her breeches and presenting it to Ann. 

Ann took it, stupefied, then uttered, "Did you have to do that?" 

Anne barked a laugh, taking her seat next to Ann again. "I could also have let it tumble all the way down to the deck, or get blown into the sea." 

"You just wanted to show off," Ann accused. 

"Perhaps," conceded Anne, a glint in her eye. "Are you impressed?" 

"Exceedingly." 

Anne grinned. Then, she chastised herself. Hadn't she just decided the best thing was not to flirt with this girl? But then Ann had shown up and suddenly it seemed impossible not to. Anne turned back slightly awkwardly to face the horizon again. Ann followed suit. 

"What's it like being a sailor?" 

The corner of Anne's mouth tugged up slightly. "It's alright. It's hard work, and a lot of orders to follow, but if you like the sea and the wind enough I suppose it's worth it." Ann nodded mutely. Anne continued, "But really what I'd like to do is have my own ship. Just like this one, two masts, not too big a crew. Then I could call the shots. I'd be my own master at last, and I wouldn't have to put up with _Rawson._ " 

Ann giggled at that, and leaned into Anne's side. She wrapped the shawl around them both again, as a pretext, Anne guessed, for snuggling closer. And what was she supposed to do, push her off? She wasn't a monster. "He does seem like a bit of a prick," offered Ann. "But if he'd been clever and caught up the time like you said, we wouldn't be sitting here together right now." 

Anne sucked in a breath and let out a small noise of agreement. She couldn't deny it; she had the captain to thank for this pleasantest of midnights. What a horrid thought. She shook it off by changing the subject. "What about you? What do you want to do? What would you do, if you could?" 

Ann cocked her head and looked up, as though the answer might be written in the stars. "Anything?" she asked timidly. 

Anne nodded, swinging her legs. "Anything at all. If you could have whatever your heart desired, what would it be?" 

Anne thought she heard Ann's breath catch and turned toward her companion to make sure she was alright. For a moment, Ann's eyes lit up and she looked as though she was about to speak - but then she shook her head. "I can't have what I want." 

Anne frowned. Part of her wanted to point out that wasn't the point of the exercise, but thankfully the part that was better at reading the situation took over. She turned to look Ann directly in the eyes and asked, "Why ever not? Why couldn't you have whatever it is you want? The whole world is there-" she gestured out toward the sea- "for the taking. If you've got the time and the money - and correct me if I'm wrong but I think you have - what's to stop you? Your family? Ignore them. It's your life, not theirs." She dropped her head slightly, lowering her voice again from the volume it had reached in the midst of her tirade. "If there's something you want, then I don't see why you shouldn't take it." 

Ann sat still and silent for a moment. Then she reached out and placed a gentle hand on Anne's jaw, turning it so Anne faced her. "You're right," she whispered, and kissed Anne.

~~

Ann awoke the next day in her hammock. She did not remember returning to her hammock in the night. She thought back to what had happened after she had- had she really? Had she kissed Anne? She remembered it extremely clearly for a dream.

She remembered that Anne had been startled at first, but then had kissed her back soundly. They had pulled away and looked at each other for a moment before both diving back in for more at the same time. When they'd had their fill of each other's mouths some time later, Ann had rested her head under Anne's chin and asked to be told more about Anne's ship, and how she would captain it. She must have fallen asleep after that - in her defense, she had been very comfortable and Anne's voice was very soothing. Anne must have carried her back to bed. That was a nice thought. To think, she had finally gotten to be held in Anne's strong arms, and she had been asleep. How utterly unfair. Perhaps she could find Anne and be held in her arms once more before she had to leave. 

But she'd have to be quick for that to happen, she thought as she clambered out of the hammock and got dressed. She had to pack up her things and get ready for the rest of the journey to Inverness. As she shoved her belongings hurriedly into her trunk, she caught a glimpse of the spine of her sketchbook. She hesitated for a second, then pulled it out, flipping to the sketch of Anne. At first she simply stared at it, drinking in Anne's image; then she held the sketchbook tight to her chest, embracing it. 

It was something, but it would be much better to actually find Anne. 

Feeling slightly silly, she packed her sketchbook away and finished loading the rest of her things into her trunk. Then she set off to find Anne. 

She started at the sailors' quarters, which were empty. Next she checked the mess in case Anne was having breakfast - she wasn't. It occurred to Ann, then, that she had no idea what the crew might up to just before an approach into harbour. She wandered the decks for a while, eyes peeled, but without luck. Finally she came across a handful of crew near the stern, raising anchor. 

Anne was among them, sweaty and red in the face as she pushed against a stick to turn a big wheel of sorts, along with two other crew. Her eyes briefly met Ann's and she smiled, but then another of the sailors moved between them and Ann lost sight of her. 

For a moment, Ann's throat constricted - but she caught herself. Anne was busy. She had said last night that being a sailor was hard work, and now Ann saw it. It was alright, she would simply have to find her again before they docked. 

Ann returned to the mess. There was no one there, just a bowl of ship's biscuits and a few bottles of grog on the table. Ann had stayed away from ship's biscuits so far on the journey, but she was hungry now and there was no other choice. As she picked one up, she noticed hollering outside and felt the ship slowly beginning to move. She tried to take a bite of the biscuit, but it was rock hard. She slipped it into the pocket of her dress and stepped back out onto the deck in search of her sailor. 

It took her a few minutes to spot Anne, who was up in the ratlines again. She was yelling back and forth to someone at the foot of the mast; Ann only caught every third word. Something about "for'ard" and "mainsail" and "tighter." She stood there for a few moments, before the feeling of being out of place and useless amongst many busy people with clear tasks and goals of which she understood nothing became to much, and she retreated back to her cabin. Hopefully she could catch Anne before they disembarked.

~~

Anne was having a hell of a morning. She had been up since dawn with the rest of the crew, making preparations to dock. Rawson had decided to lay into her harder than usual since the storm and the pump room, and he seemed determined that she wouldn't have a moment to breathe. Every time she finished a task he would appear, like some hateful jack-in-the-box, and assign her another task more gruelling and treacherous than the last. First he'd made her pump out the bilges alone, then swab the decks with Tom - faster that way, he'd said. What an indignity. Then he'd put her in the _capstan gang,_ for God's sake. She was strong, sure, and she could do it, but she wasn't built to haul up an anchor. Of course, she wasn't going to give Rawson the satisfaction of hearing her complain, so she'd put her back into it and pushed at the wheel with all her might. And then, just when she had thought she was going to collapse from the effort, she had seen an angel.

There, standing in the middle of the deck, looking slightly flushed and utterly radiant in the early morning light, was Ann. Just the sight of her eased the howling tension in Anne's muscles, and she smiled dreamily. 

And then Ann was gone, and Rawson was yelling at her, but she couldn't hear him. With renewed strength, Anne leaned harder into the capstan and didn't look up until the full length of the anchor's chain was coiled around its stout post. 

Anne spent the rest of the _Ariadne_ 's approach into port thinking about and looking around for Ann at every opportunity. She did each task Rawson assigned her with as much swift efficacy as possible, her eyes darting left and right in hopes of catching a glimpse of golden hair, or of the blue of Ann's dress. 

But no glimpse was to be had. Each time she began to near the end of a task and got ready to go off in search of the girl, Rawson would materialize from around a corner and assign her something new. Even after they had docked and moored he sent her below to coil rope. Anne coiled faster than she ever had, the coarse rope burning her hands, and raced back above in a last effort to say a proper goodbye to Ann. 

When she got to the gangplank, however, she saw that Ann was climbing into a coach, as a groom fastened her trunk onto its roof. Ann looked up and for a bittersweet moment, their eyes met. And then there was a whistle and a whinny and a clack of reins, and the coach tore off down the road and out of the harbour. 

Anne remained for a moment, waving and hoping Ann might be able to see her through the cloud of dust following the coach. 

Further down the dock, a company of sailors were disembarking after returning from a journey. Some were marching straight down the gangplank and away in search of the nearest bar, but a knot of them stood by the bow, rucksacks over their shoulders and caps over their hearts, as they finished singing the customary sailors' farewell song:

_... oh, leave her Johnny, leave her!  
For the voyage is long  
and the winds don't blow  
and it's time for us to leave her._


	2. One pound, nine shillings, and thruppence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne always helps you back to where you're meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change....  
> Ann is pretty dramatic and extreme in the beginning of this chapter. She is also 18, so I hope you'll be able to find it in your heart to allow it.  
> Also, cw for the less pleasant parts of Ann's later life, but if they'd happened much earlier on.  
> cw also for corporal punishment.  
> And then much more fun stuff! 
> 
> Chapter glossary at the end this time, by popular demand. Also dice game rules, I guess ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Anne leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs up onto her desk. She shut her eyes and let a small smile settle on her lips momentarily; everything was going swimmingly.

Holt had come by a few minutes ago to discuss inventory. They had taken more in eight months than on any of the _Ariadne_ 's previous three year-long voyages with Rawson in charge, and they had more than enough supplies to see them into port, now that everyone was actually getting an equal portion. _Never should have put up with him for so long, had I known it would be this easy,_ thought the _Ariadne_ 's new captain, crossing her legs and shifting more comfortably in her seat.

It was true - it had been remarkably easy. She had noticed and taken hold of the crew's grievances with Rawson, and stoked and fed them as much as she could. She had made a point of ensuring her place in the good books of her fellow tars, strengthened her relationships with Washington, Holt, and Pickels, and had even made attempts with the first and second mates - Jeremiah Rawson and Sam Sowden - prickly though they were. Then, slowly, over the course of a few months, she had started getting bolder with Rawson, calling him out, defying him when she could - always for the good of the crew. She stood up for those the captain picked on, argued for equality and justice in all things, and pressed Rawson at every opportunity into uncomfortable concessions. Of course the captain had taken none of this lying down, and Anne had braved the brig, the privations, the cat-o-nine-tails... but she would always get back up again, standing tall and strong on the deck, surrounded and supported by admiring crew, clothed in scars like banners of victory. And so when Rawson refused to search out a better spot despite weeks of meagre catch, and when the news broke that Rawson always had Joey Booth, the galley boy, bring him more than his share of food after meals, Anne had barely had to lift a finger to ignite a raging mutiny.

In the end Christopher Rawson had been dumped on Greenland's rocky shore and left to fend for himself, along with the coward, Sowden, who had turned on the captain only once things had started looking desperate for him, and then had tried to challenge Anne. His own son, Tom the deckboy, had spat and punched him full in the jaw, to roars of approval from those loyal to Anne. Jeremiah had been injured in the skirmish, and was allowed to remain aboard as a prisoner and advisor til Hull where he would be politely ordered to seek employment elsewhere.

Anne had been made Captain, and the _Ariadne_ had left the snivelling ex-captain and second mate behind in search of richer waters. Such waters had been quickly found, thankfully, and as the hunt wrapped up the crew's spirits were high.

"Say! Tom!" Anne called through her open cabin door as the boy walked by. "Would you find Pickels for me? I've some charts here I'd like to discuss with him."

"Sir, yes sir!"

Anne smiled. "Good lad." It was good to be Captain.

~~

"Er, Miss, might I... inquire, as to what you're doing?"

Ann looked up at the young dock sweeper with a tired smile. "Waiting for someone." She swayed her legs where they dangled off the dock.

"Er, I- I see." He looked as though he expected her to get up. When he realized she had no intention of doing so, he moved further down the dock and went back to sweeping.

Three days. She hadn't eaten, had barely slept. A kind passerby had given her a flask of water on the first evening but it was beginning to run out.

The visit in Inverness had not gone well. Captain Sutherland had almost immediately begun to push Ann toward one suitor another, all kin of his, all uncouth and uninteresting and noisome. By the end of the first month it had become clear that he would not relent until she was wed. 

That was unacceptable. Ann had decided sometime before whose bride she was going to be and nothing Sutherland or any of his never-ending troupe said or did was going to change her mind.

After three months, Ann had announced her intention to return to Crow Nest. Elizabeth had agreed that while it had been lovely to spend time with her sister it was probably time for her to begin preparations for the return journey. Ann had been about to climb the stairs to the guest room and begin packing when George Sutherland had inserted himself in her path. "Please, Ann, keep us company a little while longer," he'd cajoled. A polite but tense conversation had followed, ending in Ann's capitulation. She would remain a few more weeks.

This scene repeated itself two more times, until one day when they were nearing the end of Ann's fifth month in Scotland Ann had taken her courage in trembling hands and confronted Sutherland, explaining in no uncertain terms that she did not intend to be wed to any of the men he sent her way. Sutherland had been placating at first, insisting that she had not yet met them all and that she was sure to find a match, and besides, wouldn't it be good for her to settle down? When Ann had stood her ground, however, Sutherland had changed tack. He had a doctor brought in who declared her "mentally unfit" and began to take control of her finances. She would remain in his house until she was married to a man of whom he approved, or she would be destitute.

Elizabeth had gone to her sister after the row and asked her to be reasonable. Why was it that she didn't want to get married, anyway? Ann had told her of a sailor she had met on the journey north, of her valiance and her tenderness and her cocksure smile. Elizabeth had listened. Elizabeth had nodded. Elizabeth had tried to speak to Sutherland, and had earned a bruise on her jaw for her troubles.

In the seventh month, Ann had shut herself in her room. She'd spent the days in bed, growing sickly and pale. But at night she was comforted by the rocking of waves, the warm, safe shelter of strong arms, and a pervasive feeling of freedom. What a pity it all winked out of existence when she opened her eyes.

Meanwhile, Sutherland had been crookedly seizing more and more of her assets. Doctors and lawyers and advisors of all sorts came and went from the estate, day in and day out, slowly dismantling Ann's life. 

At some point - Ann had lost her understanding of and interest in the passage of time - Elizabeth had snuck into her room with a letter in her hand. She had friends who were leaving on a trip to Aberdeen the next day. "He's got everything of yours," she'd said, her voice tight. "There isn't anything for you here, or at Crow Nest. Ann, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done more." She had pressed the letter into Ann's hand then, before continuing. "I want you to go to your sailor. Wait until the dead of night tonight, and go to the Murphys'. Show them this, I explain everything in it. They're good, kind people. With any luck they will take pity and let you ride in their coach to Aberdeen."

Ann had felt a joyful fire light itself inside her at these words. She had hugged her sister tightly and thanked her again and again for the letter, which she'd then tucked into her nightgown. She had not slept that night, kept completely alert by flames of hope. 

A tired servant had answered the Murphys' door at three in the morning, then gone to fetch his master after reading Elizabeth's letter. Mr. Murphy had scratched his head and nodded gravely, then beckoned Ann inside.

Ann's little fire had kept her warm on the coach journey across the windy highlands, growing bigger and brighter with every mile. Upon arrival in Aberdeen, she had thanked the Murphys profusely, then set out toward the port. 

Three days she had been sitting on the edge of this dock. Three days, and no sign of Anne. Hunger clawed at her gut, and little was left of her hope-fire besides embers. But she kept it burning. Every time a new ship pulled into view, the flames would flare and dance - until it became clear the ship was not the _Ariadne_ , and Ann had gotten her hopes up for nothing once again.

But Ann was determined. She would stay on this dock, scanning the horizon patiently until either Anne showed up, or she rotted. She had no idea how long she might have to wait. How long was a whale hunt, anyway? What if the ship she awaited had already come and gone? What if it would never return to Aberdeen? What if it had been captured, or wrecked?

Just as Ann was about to enter an anxious spiral, she saw it - a shape cut from the horizon as though with sharp scissors. A ship. And atop its highest mast, a standard: a crisp, white York rose on a blue field.

The symbol of Yorkshire would have been enough to stoke her little fire back to a blazing inferno even if she hadn't sleepily half-noticed it on that fateful night up in the ratlines. But she had, and she recognized it now, and she only just caught herself before diving into the harbour's waters and swimming to the ship that could be none other than the _Ariadne_.

Ann spent the next number of minutes pacing agitatedly while the ship completed its approach and moored. The instant the gangplank pounded onto the dock she bolted up it, blind and deaf to all around her but a pair of brown eyes and a familiar chuckle.

She found Anne on the poop deck, tinkering with the helm. As soon as Ann laid eyes on her sailor she rushed at her, turning them to press Anne's body against the wheel behind her. 

They met like crashing waves. Anne gripped at Ann's arms in order not to lose her balance, fisting weathered hands in the sleeves of Ann's tattered dress. Ann's hands, for their part, were everywhere: grasping at Anne's hips, her back, her shoulders, before finally tangling and settling among Anne's dark locks. Ann kissed her desperately, as though Anne's mouth was the only thing keeping her alive. Anne kissed back with all the pent-up fervour of eight months of yearning and waiting and wanting.

When they finally broke apart, Ann could do nothing but stare at her sailor for some moments. And then suddenly the sight of her, the feel of her under Ann's fingers, the fact that she was actually _here_ , in front of her - it was too much. Ann felt tears forming and beginning to slide down her cheeks.

"Oh Ann," murmured Anne, pulling Ann to her and wrapping strong, comforting arms around her back. "What's wrong, my darling?"

"I just can't believe you're real," Ann choked out against Anne's chest. "Anne, I've had- I've had the most ghastly time." Her voice cracked and all at once fat, hot teardrops burst forth, wetting Anne's shirt. She struggled in vain to explain herself through her sobs, but it was no use. She felt like a child.

Anne rubbed her back until Ann was able to calm down. Then Ann took a deep breath and, still ensconced in the warmth of Anne's arms, she recounted what had happened to her since they had parted. Anne trailed her hand gently up and down Ann's spine throughout the tale, listening intently. Ann felt the sailor's muscles tense as she explained what Sutherland had done. When Ann finished speaking, she sighed and nuzzled closer into Anne's collar. "George Sutherland," Anne spat, in a tone Ann recognized from church, and the way the priest would talk about the Devil. "What an utterly hateful little wretch. If I ever see him, I shall horsewhip him until he is black and blue." Then, turning to look down at Ann, she added, "I am so sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart." 

Ann nodded weakly, then asked, still unwilling to leave Anne's embrace, "Where's the captain, Rawson?"

Anne chuckled at that. "That question, my dear, has two answers. Rawson is... indisposed. Unemployed in Greenland. And the captain of this fine vessel... well, she stands right before you."

That shook Ann awake. She jumped back, staring at Anne, who was positively beaming. "Anne! You- you mean-"

Anne cut her off with a calming gesture of her hands. "We mutinied. It turned out Rawson was squirreling food away and he was running the ship in a way that was limiting our catch and likely to cause us all to starve, and everyone got very tired of it and- well, we fought him. And left him behind."

Ann's eyes were wide. "And you-"

"- were chosen by the crew to replace him. Yes. So now, the _Ariadne_ is mine."

Ann lit up at that. "You got your dream."

Anne's eyes were bright and penetrating. "Yes. I suppose I did." She was leaning forward to kiss Ann again when they were interrupted by one of the crew. "Cap'n! We're all moored and de-rigged and ready for the pub, sir!" He smiled. "Oh, hallo Miss Walker, what are you doing here?"

"Catching up," said Anne before Ann could form a word of reply. "Very good, Booth, give me a few minutes. You hooligans can head off already, I'll be with you in a moment." She turned back to Ann. "The boys want to celebrate our catch with a few rounds at Ma Cameron's." She bit her lip. "Would you like to join us?"

Ann considered. She'd never been to a pub before. She'd rarely been out of Crow Nest, in fact. But if Anne was there she was sure she could manage it.

Anne seemed unsettled by her hesitance. "We could also stay here. Or go for a walk around the city. The boys will be drunk enough fast enough that they'll hardly notice my absence-"

"No!" Ann blurted. "I mean, thank you for offering to spend time with me instead of your crew, that's very kind, but- I think I'd like to come along."

Anne raised her eyebrows, as though impressed. "Right this way then, Miss Walker," she drawled, taking Ann's hand.

~~

Anne pulled open the pub door with relish at the prospect of a night of merriment. She took Ann's hand, guiding her between tables and patrons. "It may be a bit overwhelming at first," she admitted, "but I'm sure you're going to have a terrific time. If the boys give you any trouble - or if anyone else does, for that matter - you come to me and I'll set them to rights." She stepped up to the bar, turning to Ann. "Hungry?" Ann's stomach took that as its cue to rumble loudly and the girl nodded, smiling a bit self-consciously. Anne patted her back and faced the bar, ordering them each a steak and ale pie. The order placed, she turned and led them on through the pub. She stopped just before slipping around the corner of a booth and turned to face Ann directly, bending her legs slightly so they were of a height. "Are you ready?"

Ann grinned. "Yes."

"Excellent." Anne patted Ann on the shoulders once briskly before taking her hand again and leading her around the corner. 

As soon as they came into view of the crew, shouts of joy broke out. "Three cheers for the captain!" "Saved you a spot, sir," "Captain, over here!"

Anne basked in the adulation for a moment before remembering her companion. "Gentlemen, settle down a moment if you please. This is Ann Walker; you may remember her from the trip up. She'll be joining us tonight, so while I encourage you to make of all this establishment has to offer," she meaningfully eyed the cluster of empty glasses already collecting at the corner of a table, awaiting a waitress who would take them away, "let's avoid getting _too_ rowdy for her sake, hm?"

There was some quiet mumbling and a couple of subdued "yes, sir"s before Ann smacked her on the arm. "Captain! I'm not a child, I am completely able to handle... boisterous company. I'm sure the crew will be perfectly hospitable." A roar of approval went up. Anne turned back toward the small woman next to her, one brow raised and a smirk sketching itself across her lips.

"Are you sure?"

Ann smirked right back and, raising her chin defiantly, pushed past Anne to take a seat at one of the booths.

Anne nodded to her, sending her on her way, then took a seat next to her new second mate, Washington. "Captain! I took the liberty of ordering you a whisky. It's good up here." He grinned, slightly red-faced, and pushed a glass of dark alcohol toward her.

"Thank you, Samuel." Anne took the proffered drink and brought it to her lips. At the table beyond she could see Ann, looking perfectly comfortable and happy, with John Booth on one side of her and Thomas Beech on the other. They seemed to be getting on famously. She smiled as she swallowed the first sip of her drink, enjoying the way it burned and coated her throat like syrup. Her eyes met Ann's as she licked the whisky from her lips. The girl's cheeks were rosy as she smiled sweetly in Anne's direction.

"Alright you scallywags!" Anne jolted and turned along with everyone else to face the speaker. It was Hinscliffe; he was standing on a table, cup in hand, looking rather wobbly. "Who wants to play a game?" he slurred, fumbling in his pocket before retrieving a handful of dice. "Liar's dice? Farkle? What'll it be?" Several of the men got up and crowded around Hinscliffe's table, shouting suggestions for other games, placing bets, and causing a general ruckus. Anne simply leaned back in her chair to watch.

To her great surprise and slight concern, she saw Ann walk up to the table to partake.

Ann watched the first two rounds, before joining the third. Anne sipped her whisky thoughtfully; the girl seemed to be getting on quite well with her - what had Ann called them? - "boisterous" crew.

Just then, Beech flung his cup on the table. "She's got to be cheating!" Anne rose halfway out of her seat, ready to intervene. But Hinscliffe, who seemed to be acting as master of ceremonies and also umpire, held up a hand.

"How'd she be doin' that, then?"

Beech floundered. "She'd... she'd seen me dice?"

Hinscliffe rolled his eyes, while Ann sat patiently, the picture of innocence. "How could she see 'ave seen the dice ye great block'ead, they're in the cup."

"But she- but how-" the defeated Beech stuttered.

"She made you finish your drink without taking a sip of her own, yes, yes, we can all tell that," scoffed Hinscliffe. "Who next? Or should we make it more interesting?" The suggestion garnered attention, and Anne watched pairs of ears from around the room perk up. Hinscliffe continued, enjoying the spotlight. "One on one. First to make Miss Walker drink don't pay for another drink all night! But if no one's done it by midnight, then you all pay for hers!"

Anne smiled into her glass and watched as over the next while Ann squarely beat each member of her crew, one after the other. Eventually curiosity got the better of her and Anne ambled over to the game table to understand better just how well Ann was doing.

The game seemed to consist of bluffing back and forth until one player refused to believe the other, at which point the dice were revealed and whoever was wrong had to drink. It seemed simple enough, but Ann was thrashing them. Some games passed quickly; others dragged on as neither the sailor nor the young woman felt ready to call. But the result was always the same: Anne's crewman would struggle up out of the chair with an empty glass, and Ann would remain seated, her beer untouched. It was too easy. There had to be a trick.

As Pickels tipped the last of his gin down his gullet and conceded defeat, Anne stepped forward. "I'd like to challenge," she stated with a steely look in Ann's direction. Ann nodded, and Hinscliffe crowed, "the captain's come to claim her own! Any wagers?"

There was a great racket as the sailors scrambled to place their bets, but Anne ignored them, calmly taking her seat opposite Ann. "Would you like to roll first, or shall I?" asked the girl, as Hinscliffe planted a glass of beer by Anne's hand.

"You start," replied Anne.

Ann scooped the dice into the cup and shook it. Then, she looked into the cup at the dice and announced, "31."

"Pass," said Anne. Ann shook the cup to clear her roll and handed it to Anne. Anne shook, and read out the numbers as they appeared on the dice. "43."

"Pass," Ann said after a moment of contemplation. Anne gave the cup a shake and handed it back to Ann.

Ann shook the cup again. "52."

Anne considered. What were the chances that the greater die would go up by one twice in a row? She made her choice. "Call."

Ann handed over the cup without shaking it. Anne looked in; there at the bottom were the two dice, one showing five and the other two. She had lost the round. She put down the cup and took a swallow of beer. "That was lucky, Miss Walker. But it isn't over yet."

Ann nodded. "Shall I roll first again, or would you like to this time?"

"I'll let you."

Shake. "42."

"Pass." Anne took the cup and shook it. 41. She smiled, then said, brightly, "22."

Ann narrowed her eyes. "Call."

Anne laughed and handed over the cup, conceding the round. "Well done, Ann. But I'll get you yet."

Ann simply gathered the dice back into the cup. "Shall I again?"

"Yes."

Ann shook the cup, checked the dice, and made a surprised face. "Er, that's," she stuttered, not meeting Anne's eyes, "that's sixes."

This was an important moment. If Anne passed, she would also have to roll 66 in order to get Ann to drink, or she'd have to finish her glass and thereby lose the game. But if she called and Ann was lying, Ann would have to down _her_ glass. But if she called and Ann was truthful, Anne would have to down hers, and lose that way. She weighed her options.

"Call."

Ann kept her eyes down as she handed over the cup. Anne looked in: 66. She sighed. Then she reached for her glass to finish her drink and shouts from the betters erupted around her. Ann smiled softly. "Good game."

~~

Ann was enjoying herself greatly. Her pie had been delicious and filling, and for the first time in days she was free of the sharp needle of hunger. The crew were a jovial bunch and had been pleasant to her all evening. The dice game had been a great deal of fun; she had won, and was now enjoying getting pleasantly tipsy on the crew's dime. And the captain's. Oh, the captain.

Ann had been watching her on and off all night, and doing so had been causing a strange, warm stirring in her gut. It wasn't unpleasant. Anne looked at her with such a sharp, dark gaze that it made her stomach do somersaults. The way she sat off to one side, nursing her whisky, and later the way she'd step into any conversation among the crew and immediately become the glowing centre of attention - it was entrancing, the presence she had. And the way she had looked at Ann throughout that game, sizing her up like a predator on the prowl - Ann blushed just thinking of it. She returned to her seat with a fresh drink from the bar and began looking around for Anne.

Just then, she felt warm breath on the back of her neck. "May I join you?" came Anne's smoky voice from just behind her.

Ann turned. There was Anne, whisky in hand, shirt slightly unbuttoned, cheeks pink. "Er, yes, of course," said Ann distractedly.

Anne pulled out the chair next to her and snaked her hands around Ann's waist, leaning against her. "Si' 'n m'lap?" she asked, almost sleepily.

Ann turned slightly in her seat toward Anne. "What was that, Captain?" She smiled.

"Sorry," said Anne, straightening up and shaking her head as if to clear it. "Would you like to sit in my lap?"

Ann's mouth dropped slightly open. "Er, I- in front of them?" She gestured to the sailors surrounding them.

"Oh, th'rall drunk and doing their own things. Won't even notice." Ann was unsure. "And if they do, and they have a problem, well, I'm the captain. They can piss off."

Ann giggled. She couldn't argue with that logic. She bit her lip and crawled into Anne's lap.

Almost immediately, there was the sound of glass breaking as John Booth dropped his drink. "Captain's got a girl! Hurrah!"

Cheers went up all around them, and several crew came over to pat Anne on the shoulder and congratulate her. "They won't notice," Ann mocked playfully, pressing a soft kiss under Anne's jaw.

"I- I really didn't expect that," said Anne with a giddy grin. "I suppose I ought to have known though, it's meant to be good luck for them if the captain gets laid." Ann nipped at her neck, and Anne stopped talking.

Some of the crew had begun a rousing rendition of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow," which soon turned into another song, and before long the sailors were all singing and dancing even more merrily than before.

Anne kissed the top of Ann's head and Ann pressed closer against her in response. She began to kiss and lick along Anne's neck and under her open collar. She could hear Anne's breathing getting heavier, even over the joyful singing echoing around the pub:

_Oh Johnny did you miss me when the nights were long and cold?  
Or did you find another love in your arms to hold?_

_Says he, "I thought of only you when on the sea afar,  
So come up the stairs and cuddle with your Jolly Roving Tar!"_

Anne's hand was curled tight around the back of Ann's head by now, so that Ann had to struggle to raise her head from her ministrations.

"Don't stop, feels nice," murmured Anne, her eyes closed.

"Anne," pleaded Ann, brushing Anne's hair from her forehead and leaning in by her ear, "take me to bed."

~~

Ann tugged Anne up the inn stairs, giggling under her breath. As soon as she shut the door of the room behind them Anne was on her, one hand cupping her jaw and the other sliding into her travel-dirty hair. Anne pressed her tongue against Ann's lips and Ann opened her mouth willingly to let her in. Ann ran her nails down Anne's back over her shirt. Anne growled into her mouth at that, hoisting Ann up against the door and pushing her head back into the wood as she pressed in even closer. Ann whimpered, tilting her head so that Anne had access to her neck; Anne immediately obliged, sucking and nipping hungrily.

"Anne- oh, I-"

Anne could hardly hear her, so caught up was she in the meticulous process of laving her tongue over every sensitive point of Ann's neck and chest that her dress allowed her to.

Ann was growing desperate. "Anne! Please, I- I need-"

Anne looked up, bringing a hand up to paw at Ann's breasts through the fabric covering them. "What do you need, darling?"

"I need- unh, I- touch me," Ann managed, breathlessly.

It hit like a lightning strike. "Oh, my." Anne took it in, the sight of Ann panting against the door, blushing to her chest, lips plump and kiss-bitten, hair falling in disarray. She wanted to plunge a hand under Ann's skirts right then, have her up against the rough door of the inn room. Instead she lowered Ann to her feet and took her hands off her, crossing them behind her. Ann mewled in disappointment before Anne leaned in close, hands still behind her back, and whispered in her ear: "Ask nicely."

Ann tried to grab at her, but Anne deftly dodged. She could see Ann's hands were in tight fists, her eyes screwed shut in concentration, her hips canting helplessly. "Please Anne, just- please just touch me."

Anne licked her lips then dove in, grasping Ann around the waist and turning to fling her onto the waiting bed. "Good girl, Miss Walker," she husked, climbing on top of the young woman where she had fallen, "manners are paramount."

Ann's hands came up behind her head, pulling her down into a passionate, sloppy kiss. Anne slipped her hand under the layers of Ann's skirts and petticoats, before finally reaching the part of her drawers. 

She failed to prevent a primal grunt from escaping her throat at the feeling of Ann's wetness on her fingertips. Ann gasped at the contact, biting her lip and pressing her hips up toward Anne's hand.

"Patience, my beauty," murmured Anne, but she, too, was beginning to pant rather heavily. She slid her fingers through Ann's arousal, causing the girl to squirm under her, mumbling breathlessly and incoherently.

Anne reached under the collar of Ann's dress, under her chemise, and passed a thumb over the girl's nipple. At the same time, she circled slowly around her entrance, smiling proudly as she heard Ann's breath catch.

"Mmh, Anne, please, more," Ann begged, as Anne felt her nipple harden under her thumb.

"More where darling?" asked Anne, bringing her index finger alongside her thumb to gently pinch at Ann's nipple.

Ann opened her mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it and instead reached down to press on Anne's hand through her skirts. "Here," she breathed.

Anne chuckled lowly, adjusting her position so that she could snake a hand behind Ann's neck and bury her head there, as she slipped the tip of one finger into Ann's core. 

Ann hissed. "Ah, Anne! That-"

Anne stopped and raised her head, concerned. "Good or bad?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Good," Ann replied instantly. "So good, oh Anne, unh-" She opened her eyes, almost shy. Anne was struck by the sight; here was Ann Walker, gorgeous and giving herself to Anne, laid out with Anne's finger inside her, for Heaven's sake, and she had the sheer cheek to look so angelically bashful. And then, with that innocent look still on her face, she breathed, "more?"

Anne's face split into a lecherous grin. "I don't know Miss Walker," she teased, leaning back in and licking the shell of Ann's ear. "More?"

Ann shuddered. "Please," she gasped.

Anne pushed her finger in further, feeling Ann tense, then relax around her. She pressed long, hard kisses to Ann's throat as Ann held her there with a hand in her hair, the other taking Anne's and placing it on her chest again.

A thought occurred to Anne then. "Ann," she whispered, finger still in Ann's core, "might I... see you?" Ann made a questioning noise, forcing Anne to clarify: "Naked."

Ann sucked in a breath, then took Anne's hand off her chest, pulled at Anne's wrist between her legs as a signal to stop, and rolled onto her front, exposing the lacing of her dress. "My, my, aren't we eager," chuckled Anne, but it was more aroused than amused. She began to work as quickly as she could, tugging the ribbon free and revealing Ann's corset and chemise beneath. She pushed the garment from Ann's shoulders, and Ann helped by pulling her sleeves off and shimmying the skirt down and off the end of the bed. Anne growled then, both at the sight of Ann like this and at the prospect of how much was still to be done before she could touch the girl's skin. She tore off her petticoats, giving less than a thought to the ties, and then leaned into Ann's back to undo her corset with her teeth. Ann moaned when she realized what Anne was doing, and bucked her hips into the mattress involuntarily. "Mm, soon, sweetheart," Anne cooed, parting the corset around Ann's waist at last. She slid it out from under Ann and dropped it carelessly on the floor, moving to remove her drawers and stockings. When these, too, had been discarded, Ann rolled over to take off her chemise. She sat up and pulled it slowly up her body, biting her lip and making, then breaking eye contact with Anne, coyly. When she'd finally pulled it over her head and tossed it on the floor with the rest of the forsaken layers, she looked up at Anne through her lashes.

"Meet your expectations?"

"Oh, Ann," managed Anne, drinking in the delectable vision before her, "you vastly exceed them."

Ann blushed so brightly Anne could see it even in the half-light of the dingy inn room. She was exquisite, Anne thought - all clean lines and soft curves. Anne realized that she could feed on the sight of her like this for eternity, and never have to eat again. What a feast.

"Anne." A plea, the sound of which went straight to Anne's loins. She suddenly remembered what they had been in the middle of. She kissed Ann soundly, pressing her back into the pillows as her fingers returned to Ann's core. She moved to Ann's neck, then her chest, finally bending to kiss and suckle at her nipples, one after the other. Ann made the loveliest, neediest sound and Anne groaned as fresh arousal gushed under her fingertips. "Deeper, Anne, and- unh, more." Anne bit her nipple playfully and obliged, sinking in a second finger, and then a third when Ann still pressed harder into her. "Oh, Anne that-" cried Ann. "Yes, oh."

Anne smiled against Ann's chest, proud to have taken away the girl's ability to form complete sentences. _And without even a single touch to her clit,_ she thought. Ann was desperate by now, bucking her hips wildly in search of friction, though she likely didn't know it. Anne took pity, brushing her thumb once over Ann's clit; Ann came instantly, moaning and whimpering and shaking through her release.

Anne eased her through it, pressing warm kisses to Ann's pulse point as she came down. Then, she rolled off Ann and lay on her side, watching as Ann caught her breath and returned to reality.

"That was incredible," Ann sighed, rolling to face Anne, "I've never felt anything like that before."

 _I thought not,_ mused Anne, pride swelling in her chest at being pretty little Ann's first. "You were brilliant," she replied with a broad grin. Ann giggled and hid her head in the crook of Anne's neck. "You were," Anne insisted, kissing the top of her head and stroking her side.

"I didn't do anything," Ann murmured, embarrassed. 

"Well, if you'd had to, I wouldn't have done my job," said Anne lowly. "Besides, what you did do is look absolutely ravishing and-" she pressed a soft kiss to Ann's lips, her tongue darting out to wet them- "utterly delectable."

"Well alright, but you did most of the work." Ann blushed. 

Anne kissed her forehead and shifted over in the bed slightly. She began unbuttoning her breeches with the intention of seeing to herself - Ann had gotten her quite worked up, writhing and bucking beneath her touch, whining and moaning for her.

But Ann had other plans. She reached out and placed a hand gently on Anne's, stilling it. When Anne looked over at her, she was startled to see so much lust in the girl's eyes. "Let me," Ann purred.

Anne swallowed thickly and put her hands up in surrender. Ann wrapped her fine fingers around button after button, pushing them through the eyeholes, then peeled down the flap to reveal the gap in Anne's drawers. "Th- thank you, darling," Anne breathed.

"Oh - did you think I was done?" asked Ann, licking her lips, the desire in her eyes not having abated in the least. "After you took such good care of me, Captain, I could hardly roll over and go to sleep without returning the favour. Manners are paramount after all, it would be tremendously rude. As long as you don't mind, of course."

Anne gulped. She had never been asked this before. In the past, she had always told girls that she preferred to give than take, and they'd been happy enough to indulge her in that. She would get them off, and then turn away and hastily take care of her own needs. One or two may have offered to help, certainly a few had wanted to watch - but she hadn't been particularly keen, and they hadn't insisted.

But this. This was different. The truth was, Anne was more aroused now than she had been in quite some time. The tone of Ann's voice, the look on her face - how could she refuse?

"Please, Ann," she panted. "Just... don't go inside."

A saucy smirk settled on Ann's angelic face as she slipped a hand between Anne's legs. "I can do that." She ran two fingers smoothly through Anne's folds, collecting and spreading her arousal. "So wet, Captain," she whispered appreciatively, and Anne thought she might come right there.

"Keep calling me Captain," she said hoarsely, her hips jolting as Ann ghosted a finger over her clit.

"Aye aye," said Ann, leaning in to kiss and suck at Anne's neck. Anne's responding chuckle broke off into a moan as Ann touched her clit again, this time with more pressure. Ann moaned along with her as she began stroking Anne's clit with her thumb. "Oh, you feel so good, Captain."

Anne was beginning to unravel. She reached a hand into Ann's golden curls and tugged her forward with a rough "come here." Ann brought her lips forward the rest of the way and tilted her chin, giving Anne access.

As their mouths met, Anne saw stars; Ann's clever fingers, the soft insistence of her tongue, the word _Captain_ \- as hard as she tried to hold back, to prolong the feeling of Ann's hands and mouth on her, it was no use. She came with a gasp, which Ann swallowed as she eased her down.

"There," Ann said, licking her fingers as if there was nothing extraordinary or colossally arousing about the sight, "we're even."

Anne kissed her again, hard and hungry, trying to put all of her gratitude and amazement into it. Ann seemed to get the message, smiling dreamily as she ran her fingers through Anne's hair. "We should do that again sometime." Anne smiled. "You know Anne, I was thinking," Ann began, biting her lip, "since there's... nothing for me here, anymore, in Inverness or back home, as Sutherland's taken everything, I was thinking I could... join your crew? If you'd have me?"

Anne was blindsided. Here she was, sated and sleepy, about to fall asleep next to the loveliest girl she had ever seen before sending her on her way in the morning, and this girl was asking to- stay with her? It seemed impossible, totally foreign. But as Ann had just reminded her, that Sutherland bastard had left her with nowhere else to go. Oh, if she could only wring his neck for what he'd put Ann through- but then, Ann wouldn't be making this incredible request if he'd allowed her to keep more than the clothes on her back. Once again, Anne found herself grateful for the actions of a despicable insect of a man. She frowned.

Ann took this for reticence in the face of her offer. "I know I can't do much, but I can learn! The crew seem very friendly, I'm sure they could teach-"

" _I_ will teach you, Ann," Anne blurted, a touch more harshly than she intended. "I mean, I would love to have you, and I have every confidence that you will make a fine addition to the crew."

Ann's eyes were saucers. "Really? You'll have me?"

"Of course I'll have you," Anne replied, comfortingly. _All of you,_ , she thought.

~~

When Ann awoke the next morning to the sound of seabirds and market day traffic, the other side of the bed was cold. Her stomach dropped for a moment before she heard the sound of water splashing, and turned to see Anne washing her face at a basin in the corner of the room. She looked up a moment later and smiled radiantly. "God morning, Miss Walker."

"Morning, Captain," Ann replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "I thought I told you not to call me that." She rolled over, snuggling her face into Anne's pillow, breathing in the scent of her.

"I'll try and remember. Come now, up you get, we've got a busy day ahead of us," Anne informed her as she sat down on the bed to tug on her boots.

"Have we?"

"Oh yes. You're going to accompany Holt and me to see a customer, watch the negotiations. Partly so you learn, and partly-" she leaned over and planted a kiss on Ann's lips- "because I want you by my side."

Ann thought about it. "Is that all?"

A beat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean is that all there is to do today? Because I can think of another errand I'd like for us to go on together."

"Is that so?" Anne raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. I was thinking," Ann sat up and leaned her head on her sailor's shoulder, "you seem to me like a captain in every way but one: you don't dress like one." Anne barked a laugh. "I'm serious!" Ann continued. "You have the presence, the voice, the know-how... but you're dressed just like your men. I know you haven't had time to change that yet, but now that you can, I think you should. Besides," she tilted her head to lick a stripe up Anne's ear, "I think you'd look quite dashing."

"Mm," Anne replied, thoughtfully, "you think that, do you?"

Ann bit her lip. "Yes, _Captain,_ I do." She drew out the title as suggestively as she could.

Anne turned and kissed her. "Well then we shall have to give it a go, shan't we?"

~~

Anne tramped down the stairs half an hour later with Ann on her arm. They had gotten a carried away; Ann was just too adorable, dressed only in her chemise, hair mussed, rubbing at her eyes and trying not to yawn. Anne had seen to waking her up.

And now they were descending on the rest of the crew, assembled around last night's tables for breakfast. "Good morning, gentlemen!" bellowed Anne. Most of the crew looked up and greeted her more or less jovially, but a couple only grunted, nursing their hangovers. "It's good to see you all down for breakfast, like we agreed. I have an announcement to make." A few heads rose, and Ann fidgeted next to her. "I should very much like to introduce you all to your newest crewmate: Ann Walker!" 

The reaction was even more favourable than Anne had expected; there were whoops and applause and congratulations, and a few of the men even got up and shook Ann's hand, or clapped her on the back. No one seemed skeptical about the choice of a female tar - _Well, I suppose they have got a female captain, after all,_ Anne reasoned.

Anne took a seat next to James Holt, the boatswain, noticing as he moved a thick ledger from the seat next to him to under his chair. He had been the boatswain under Rawson as well and had plenty of experience selling oil to merchants. He had the connections and the relationships, built up over the years, that would guarantee them a good price for their take. Anne was exceedingly glad to - for lack of a better term - have him on board. Ann took the seat on the other side of Anne, and Anne squeezed her leg as she sat down.

"Morning, Captain!" Holt smiled, pouring her a glass of beer from a pitcher on the table. "And welcome, Walker! I'm sure you'll make a terrific sailor." He gestured to the pitcher, asking if Ann wanted a glass as well. Ann seemed to consider for half a moment before nodding heartily. Holt's smile grew as he slammed a glass down in front of the girl.

"Thank you, Holt," said Anne, taking a sip of beer. "So, who are we seeing today?"

Holt shifted in his chair and into business mode. "Name's Shaw. Not necessarily a pleasant fellow but a loyal customer. Makes soap. Not much for change." 

Anne nodded, evaluating. She took another sip of beer. "Well, he's going to have to accept some change. You told me Rawson had a tendency to get... lenient, with long-time customers?"

"Let 'em walk all over us, more like. You know how he was. He'd get drunk, get to chatting, ask how much we'd charged last time, exclaim 'that much?', look at me like I'd done something wrong, and give Shaw a discount. Every time."

Anne shut her eyes and sighed. How had she let this tomfoolery go on so long? "How much less was he charged last time than he ought to have been, according to your calculations?"

Holt sucked his teeth. "Reckon about 'alf."

" _Half?_ " Anne sputtered. _Half?!?_

"I told you, the capt- Rawson would bring down the price every time! Got to makin' a big difference. I tried to stop him, but-" Holt hung his head and shook it.

"Right, well," Anne took a long swig of beer, "seems Shaw doesn't mind change too much, as long as it's in his favour. We shall have to be firm."

Holt nodded resolutely. "Yes, sir."

Food arrived then, brought by a flock of pretty barmaids. Anne was admiring the one coming to their table when she met Ann's eyes. Ann raised an eyebrow and tilted her chin, almost challenging. Anne scoffed and looked down as a plate was laid in front of her. Kippers, butter, toast. She ate in silence, ruminating on the coming battle with Shaw.

Her concern must have shown on her face, because when she happened to look up in Ann's direction, the girl was looking at her quizzically, as if to make sure she was alright. Anne gathered her strength and winked at Ann in reassurance - both Miss Walker's and her own. She could do this.

When they had polished off their plates the three of them rose, Holt and Ann following Anne out Ma Cameron's door. If she was going to confront Shaw and get her price, she had to have ammunition. " We're going to start by walking around the marketplace and gathering some information. Holt, I have a few more technical questions for you as well. Then, we shall head to our meeting with Shaw and explain the maths to him," she called over her shoulder toward her companions, as they marched over Aberdeen's cobbled streets toward the market square.

It was easy enough to make the necessary inquiries and obtain satisfactory answers and before too long the captain, the boatswain (ledger in hand), and the newly minted tar were stood on the kerb outside Shaw & Sons' Seaside Soaps and Such. At the stroke of seven from the nearest belfry, Anne stepped forward and rapped thrice sharply on the door.

"Who's that then? We're shut!" came a gruff voice from within.

Anne turned to Ann on her left and rolled her eyes for her benefit. The girl hid a giggle behind one hand. "It's Captain Anne Lister of the _Ariadne,_ Mr. Shaw," she bellowed. "I believe you used to deal with Christopher Rawson?"

After a moment the door swung inward on its hinges, revealing the establishment's proprietor: a waxy, weaselly-looking man of middling age and height, with an apron on over a somewhat ratty shirt and trousers. "Where is Rawson?"

"He took some necessary actions to hand over command of the ship to me," Anne said easily. It wasn't exactly untruthful. The actions Rawson had taken had led to her taking command, which had, by a certain definition, been necessary for the continuation of their enterprise. Anne thought she heard Ann's breath hitch next to her.

Shaw's beady eyes narrowed. "And then what'd he do?"

"Retired." This time Anne was sure she heard Ann gulp.

"Right then, so I suppose I talk to you now, Captain... Lister, you said." Anne nodded briskly and Shaw turned to the boatswain with a perfunctory greeting: "Holt."

He shifted then to face Ann, with a look on his face somewhere between suspicion and confusion. Anne cut in, "and this is Ann Walker, a new mate I've hired to fill out the crew. She's come to observe." Shaw looked quizzically at Ann's rumpled and stained dress and seemed about to say something when Anne cleared her throat in an effort to return his attention to the task at hand. 

"Well then. Follow me," he muttered, ushering them through the shop and into an office.

"As the _Ariadne_ is... under new management, as it were," began Anne smoothly, "I thought it best to take a look at our current rates and get to know our clientèle." Shaw huffed. Anne ignored him. "So. Shall we?"

Shaw crumpled his face before speaking, in a tone that suggested the words tasted foul: "I understand you have just made port with a cargo of train oil and if that is the case my sons and I would like to ask you how much you'd take for it."

Anne paused. "What would you offer?" she deadpanned.

"Oh," Shaw laughed and turned toward Holt for a moment, as though he might share in the joke. When Anne's boatswain simply gave him a blank stare (which had just bought him a drink as far as Anne was concerned), Shaw turned back to her and said, with the air of a man explaining to a woman how things are done, "You must set the price, Captain."

Anne suppressed a smile. _I had an inkling he might underestimate me. Excellent._

"Per barrel?" she asked, the picture of innocence.

Shaw scoffed. "Yes, that would be-"

"One pound, nine shillings, and thruppence." _Bet you didn't see that coming._

"S-sorry?" he stuttered.

 _Oh, it's too easy._ "Per barrel."

Shaw shut his mouth, which had been hanging open, and sat down on a nearby chair. He looked up at Holt. "That's- that's ridiculous."

"Mm, it isn't," Anne informed him. _And I've had just about enough of you addressing the boatswain over me, the one talking to you; and the captain, to boot._ She coolly pulled up a chair next to his before continuing. "Allow me to explain why. You sell your soap at market for thruppence per bar."

"It's actually tuppence ha'penny," tossed in Shaw.

 _Oh, no you don't._ "I asked a number of people who buy it from you. No one said tuppence ha'penny."

Shaw shrunk back slightly. "Some we sell at thruppence, yes," he conceded.

Anne continued as though the hiccup in her exposition had never occurred. "So I'm reliably informed that a batch of soap takes 340 fluid ounces of oil to make, and that the cost of the remaining ingredients for a batch - 48 ounces of lye and 112 of water - is nine shillings. 72 bars of soap in a batch, why that's tuppence ha'penny per bar, which means you make a ha'penny clear gain per bar, or three shillings per soap batch. 5760 fluid ounces in a barrel, so seventeen batches in a barrel or so, and your clear gain is two pounds and eleven shillings. Per barrel. So I think you can see, under the circumstances, that one pound, nine shillings, and thruppence is a perfectly reasonable price for my train oil."

Shaw blinked. "Well, that's-" 

"Hm?" Anne was becoming impatient.

Shaw sighed. "In all seriousness, Captain Lister, one pound and sixpence per barrel would be much nearer the mark."

Anne sighed in return, trying not to sound mocking. "I think I've explained to you as plainly as I can why it isn't. One pound, nine shillings, and thruppence, Mr. Shaw, is what I shall take for my train oil, in _all_ seriousness."

Shaw scratched his balding head, as though thinking hard. "Then it seems we are at an impasse, Captain. Because I will not buy it at that price," he announced stubbornly.

"You will not-" Anne was stricken; she was being as reasonable as she could. What did Shaw mean, not buying it at her price? How greedy could a man be?

"An- Captain," came Ann's sweet, concerned voice from next to her. "Might I speak with you for a moment?"

"Not now, Ann, I'm in the middle of-" Anne's tongue stuck on the roof of her mouth as Ann placed a hand - dainty, but firm - on her arm, and fixed her with intense blue eyes. Anne swallowed. "Yes, of course. Holt, you too. Excuse us a moment while we confer, Mr. Shaw."

The trio stepped out of the office and into the hall, where Anne rounded on Ann. "What is it?"

Ann, appearing perfectly calm, turned to the boatswain. "Mr. Holt, how far back does that ledger go?"

"Oh, I reckon ten, twelve years."

"Does it contain the first transaction with Mr. Shaw?"

"Should think so."

Anne had been seething at the fact that even Ann was refusing to speak to her and preferring to go through her crewman, when she understood what the clever young woman was getting at. "Of course! Holt, find that transaction and see how much Rawson charged him the very first time," she exclaimed.

Holt flipped open the ledger, scanning through its first few pages before pausing with his finger halfway down a page. "Two pounds tuppence."

"Aha! Brilliant! That's more than I'm charging him now! So now we just have to convince him that two pounds tuppence is the price he'd be paying if he hadn't gotten Christopher drunk every time-"

"Could I have a go at negotiating with him?" asked Ann gently.

Anne was unsure. This was an important negotiation, she was reluctant to let someone as inexperienced as Ann take it over.

Holt cleared his throat. Anne fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes?"

"Well, beggin' your pardon, Captain, it's just that- well it was Walker's idea to look at the first transaction, so maybe she could try him first? If she's not getting anywhere, you can always step back in. And, with all due respect, you haven't, er- you haven't exactly done this sort of thing before either, really."

Anne's brow furrowed. No matter how she looked at it, Holt's points were good. Ann had just about as much experience with Shaw as Anne did herself. And in that case, and given that it _had_ been Ann's idea to check the ledger, why shouldn't she talk to him? "Very well," Anne allowed. "After you then, Walker," she said, pushing open the door to the office again.

This time when they entered, Shaw was seated behind a cluttered wooden desk. He gave a slow, patronizing nod as they filed back in. _It was better when we had him unprepared,_ thought Anne with a twinge of worry. Shaw looked up at her expectantly. She swallowed. "Mr. Shaw, having discussed the matter further amongst ourselves-"

"-we thought there was something else that ought to be mentioned before we reach an agreement," finished Ann, smoothly. She stepped forward so she was half a pace in front of Anne and Holt, in front of Shaw and his desk but slightly off to one side, rather than squarely in the middle of his field of vision. "We decided to verify some of the _Ariadne's_ past transactions with you," continued Ann, "and we found that the very first price you had agreed upon with Christopher Rawson was two pounds and tuppence per barrel."

Shaw blanched. "I- didn't realize you had records of that."

Anne smirked. _Evidently not._ She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly, watching Ann more closely and feeling pride stirring in her gut at how easily Ann had gotten their tricky customer on the back foot. 

Ann meanwhile, had gestured to Holt to bring forth the ledger and lay bare the evidence of Shaw's cupidity on his own desk. Ann continued, her tone the furthest thing from accusatory or cross or gloating: "Given that you have been a loyal customer for some years now according to this ledger, we thought it might be fair to give you a bit of a break and not charge you our full price of two pounds and tuppence, plus inflation for the last few years. That's why we think one pound, nine shillings, and thruppence would be a more reasonable price to charge. But of course, if you aren't interested, we can always find someone else to sell to instead."

"No!" Shaw fairly shouted. "Or rather, I don't think it will be necessary for you to look elsewhere, in the end. One pound, nine shillings, and thruppence is, all things considered, a truly-" he grit his teeth- "generous price. Thank you. Honestly, it's been a pleasure to do business with you."

Ann turned back toward Anne, a triumphant smile drawn on her lips. Holt bumbled forward then. "Right then, so as for delivery-"

Anne tuned him out in favour of focusing all her senses on how utterly radiant Ann Walker seemed in victory. The slight haughty upward tilt of her chin, the confident magnanimity in her smile, something that flashed in her eyes- Anne was awestruck.

She finally found her tongue again as they were stepping out of Shaw & Sons' front door, all necessary arrangements having been made and a tidy stack of banknotes in her pocket. "How did you do that?" she asked, still too entranced to care about how breathy her voice sounded.

Ann shrugged, her cheeks pinkening. "Just tried to make it seem like less of a confrontation. You were both acting stubborn. Instead of building a thicker wall for him to keep smashing his head into and getting none of us anywhere, I built a gate and invited him in on our terms," she explained, as though it had been the easiest thing in the world.

"Well, you were brilliant," gushed Anne. "Truly, it was quite the performance. I don't know what I would've done without you. Probably gotten rude," she chuckled ruefully.

"Well that wouldn't have done at all," purred Ann, her face changing. "Because as you yourself say," she leaned against Anne, whispering in her ear, "manners are paramount."

Anne shivered. She was eager to get on with their errands so they could get back in a bed with all possible haste.

~~

"Well, that's one thing out of the way," drawled Anne as they made their way back to the market square, "but as I recall there was something else you wanted us to do together today, eh _Walker?_ "

Ann giggled. "It was funny to hear you call me that inside. I thought it might be because you were irritated that I'd asked to speak to Shaw."

Anne deflated slightly. "Ass that I am, it may have been. But really I would have been twice the ass if I'd asked you not to - you were magnificent."

"You did mention," Ann teased primly. It felt nice to be the target of Anne's praise.

"Yes, well," continued Anne, "besides, it's probably best if I don't call you by your Christian name in front of the crew, and you've made it quite clear how you feel about being called Miss Walker-"

"-utterly repulsed," Ann joked.

"Precisely. So, Walker it is, unless you have any objections?"

Ann thought about it. "I think I like it. Makes me really feel like one of the crew."

"Which is a good thing?" Anne asked, biting her lip. 

"Which is a good thing," Ann agreed. "But perhaps I should look a bit more the part. Poor Mr. Shaw seemed a bit muddled when you introduced a tar in a dress."

"Would you wear something other than a dress?" Anne had an unidentifiable look in her eyes.

Ann considered. "Well, no, I suppose not, but maybe something a bit less-" she picked at the lace on the end of her sleeve- "frilly." Anne let out a breath that sounded decidedly relieved. _Oh, that's interesting,_ thought Ann slyly. "Why, were you afraid I'd make it harder for you to get your hand between my legs?" she nudged playfully.

Anne was the picture of gentlemanly offense. "Certainly not. I just-" she sidled up nearer to Ann and slid a hand around her waist- "think they suit you rather well."

Ann blushed in spite of herself. "Well, I think what would suit you is a coat and vest and some better boots." Anne laughed and steered them toward the tailor's.

Some time later, Ann found herself with a simple navy cotton dress, a wool coat, new underwear and stockings, and a pair of sensible work boots bundled in her arms as she waited by the changing screen. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"There are just-" there was a sigh- "a great many buttons. Give me a moment."

Ann waited patiently, trying to picture how dapper and smart Anne wold look in a few moments when she came sweeping out from behind the changing screen.

She need not have bothered, as it would have been impossible to foresee just how stunning Anne would look in the new clothes.

Ann forgot how to breathe as she raked her eyes up Anne's body. First there were the boots, black and gleaming, hugging Anne's muscular calves and ending cleanly just below the knee. Next came the trousers, similarly fitted. She had chosen bright red for these, and Anne had not refused. She wore the light grey tailcoat open over a black double-breasted waistcoat. A black cravat was tied around starched white stocks. The finishing touch on the outfit was a silver watch chain tucked into the waistcoat pocket to match the silver buttons on the waistcoat and tailcoat. And up just beyond the stocks was the Captain's face, itself clothed in the closest thing Anne ever wore to a bashful smile. "What do you think?"

"Good lord, Anne, you're- so handsome." Ann felt slightly discouraged by the inadequacy of the words. "I mean, _so_ handsome."

Anne winked. "Then I'd better get back out of them quickly so we can pay for them and head back to the inn."

"Wait." Ann caught her by the wrist and pulled her near. "I like them so much I think you should wear them out." She looked up at Anne through her lashes, begging wordlessly.

"You think that, do you?"

Ann leaned in even closer to pour her plea straight into Anne's ear: "Please, Captain."

Anne let out a hushed growl in response, before pushing past Ann to the teller. "Excuse me, would it be possible to pay for this outfit and wear it out?"

The teller nodded, the transaction was settled, Anne gathered her old clothes in a bundle similar to Ann's and they set out for Ma Cameron's again, both newly equipped for their recently-obtained roles.

~~

The rest of the crew were not at the inn, as they had decided to do some harbour fishing off the side of the ship that day. Ann had gone off to help little Joey Booth stock up the ship's larder before their departure the next day, so Anne decided to hang around with the fishing party.

As she came aboard, she was greeted amicably by the crew, and duly complimented on the new clothes Ann had chosen for her. "You look like a proper captain now, sir," said Booth warmly. "Not that- er, not that you weren't a proper captain before, begging your pardon, it's just that now you- really look the part."

Anne smiled at his scrambling. "Thank you, Booth."

"Say, er, Captain," came the voice of an uncharacteristically tentative Hinscliffe, "did you, er, that is - was it you who... selected... this outfit?"

Anne narrowed her eyes slightly at the odd question. "No. Walker chose it for me. I think she has a keen eye for these things."

"Ah. Yes, sir. A very keen eye," said Hinscliffe, dejected. Anne quickly realized why: Thomas Beech was standing just behind Hinscliffe, open hand outstretched, grinning like a loon. Hinscliffe pressed a handful of coins into his crewmate's palm and slunk off.

 _Let them have their fun,_ said a voice in her head. _It's harmless. Besides, you love it._ And it was true. She thought perhaps she ought to feel shame at having the girl dress her, or anger toward her crew for daring to make her love life the subject of bets. Instead she felt a sort of pride at being marked this way as Ann's, and a warmth at the thought that her crew took an interest and felt close enough to her to include her in their games. She would not rule by fear as Rawson had, she thought - she would insist on a healthy respect in matters of real consequence, and that would be enough.

~~

"What about apples?" Ann asked, growing desperate.

Joey Booth, the galley boy, bit his lip uncertainly. "Well, they're fresh, so we could get a couple, but we wouldn't have them for the whole journey. Just for a few days."

Ann sighed, putting down the apple she had started to inspect. What food _could_ be kept on a boat?

"it's best to get things that are preserved in some way - pickled, salted, that sort of thing. And of course we need ingredients for ship's biscuits."

Ann's stomach flipped. "Do we? Couldn't we... go without those, til Hull?" _and forever,_ she wanted to add.

"Why? Don't you like them?" Joey looked almost affronted.

"Well it's just that they're-" _like eating rocks_ \- "a bit hard, don't you think?"

The boy looked confused. "Hard? Oh. Oh! You haven't been soaking them!"

"Soaking them?"

"Yes! Oh, Walker, you're not supposed to just eat them dry, unless you don't mind being toothless!" He giggled at his own joke before continuing. "I can't believe no one told you. No, no, you have to dip them in your ale to soften them first. That's the only way to eat them. Goodness me, did you really eat them dry?"

"Well I-" Ann felt her cheeks colour- "I tried."

The fourteen-year-old attempted what was likely meant to be a manly clap on the back, but felt more like a tap. "Walker, Walker, Walker. We'll teach you to eat like a proper tar yet!"

The rest of their shopping trip passed amiably (once Ann's cheeks had returned to their usual colour), with Joey teaching her about what he usually stocked while Ann made suggestions for varying and brightening up the menu a bit; she even spent a chunk of her wages on a tiny sachet of black pepper.

As they were finishing to unpack their purchases and store them throughout the galley, Anne swept in. She looked lively and bright-eyed, her cravat slightly loosened and her hair wind-mussed. Ann's mouth went dry.

Taking advantage of the fact that Joey's head was in a cupboard, she strode boldly forward and took Anne's lips in a kiss, wrapping her hand in the lapels of that maddening tailcoat. "I need to get this off you immediately," she breathed.

Anne feigned confusion. "I thought you liked it?"

Ann tugged her in by the lapels, kissing her again, harder. "Precisely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever stop abusing the humble comma.  
> Survey says: no.
> 
> The dice game they play is Liar's Dice, see here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liar%27s_dice  
> The one on one part is a variant of the "drinking game version" in this article. Farkle is another dice game that would have been played at this time, which is to say oh, 1822.
> 
> More terms,  
> brig: a sort of prison or detention chamber on a ship  
> cat-o-nine-tails: a rope whose nine strands have been separated at one end, used to flog misbehaving sailors on ships  
> train oil: another term for whale oil, based on the Dutch word for tear
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment if you did, or if you want to talk about Regency dice games. Or soap.


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